


Taking Him Under

by withcoffeespoons



Series: Bakery AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Plug, Begging, Bondage, Cock Slapping, Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Safewords, Subspace, Trans Inquisitor, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withcoffeespoons/pseuds/withcoffeespoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curtis Lavellan practices his hand at bringing Cullen under, into subspace. His lover, Bull, is insurance, but he's not just going to <i>not</i> take advantage of an opportunity right in front of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Him Under

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a larger collection that falls under the category of [RedLuna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna)'s and my Bakery AU.

Bull found Curtis breathtaking on the most ordinary of days, but it wasn’t every day he came home to this sort of welcome.

Cullen was tied, spread eagle, to the bed with baby-blue silk—it was always blue with Cullen. Curtis preferred the emerald scarves, playing against the shocking ginger hair and the rosy blush that fell across his skin when he was worked over properly. Curtis, it turned out, was very interested in the aesthetics of kink.

Those blue scarves drew Bull’s eye to the stiff line of muscle corded along his forearms, heavy shadows on pale skin. His blond hair was starting to curl across his forehead where sweat beaded lightly.

Curtis’ head was pooled on Cullen’s stomach, his hair fanning in soft curls against softening muscle. Watching Cullen slowly gain weight where before he’d been growing gaunt had stirred a protectiveness in Bull, but it gained a fetishistic fervor for Curtis, who took such pleasure in the softness of his belly.

Curtis pillowed his arm between Cullen’s stomach and his sharp jaw, fingers drumming out a gentle tapping tease along the lines of Cullen’s hip. Bull watched Cullen’s stomach twitch under Curtis in shivering spasms. His redheaded lover looked on, his expression schooled with mild disinterest, but it didn’t fool Bull in the least.

Curtis was attentive of his lover. He was tuned into Cullen’s body, more aware of it than he was of his own. Curtis was still fully dressed, his spindly legs folded over Cullen’s tensed thigh. He was covered in a pale polo shirt and a pair of painted-on black denim jeans—a combination that Bull was fairly certain broke some unspoken rules of fashion. But it was hot, Bull would have to admit; Cullen, he considered, probably would have agreed if he was of a mind.

Cullen’s mind was far from focused on Curtis’ fashion choices. Curtis’ fingers made invisible trails up the shaft of Cullen’s angry-purple cock, his touch light and torturous. Cullen made a handful of shivery, aborted jerks, and Curtis folded his hand under his cheek.

The bereft noise that left Cullen’s throat had Bull hard in seconds.

Precome spilled from the tip of Cullen’s penis like the slightest tease of an orgasm. It wasn’t enough, Bull knew, to relieve the _need need need_ pressure Curtis was working up. He knew because he was the one who taught Curtis this particular tease. His balls ached in half-remembered sympathy.

The blue ribbon tied around the base of Cullen’s cock was purely for show, too loose to be any sort of real restriction, but he imagined the physical weight of it was enough to keep Cullen grounded.

He was _under_. Bull’s heart beat faster at the sight, the distance in his eyes, the untethered cries hissing from Cullen’s lips. Cullen’s cock danced and reached desperately of its own accord, chasing Curtis’ touch. His boy let it, soothing shushes just another tease as his breath breezed across the tip. Cullen was near sobbing.

“How long?” Bull asked, his voice muted. He touched himself lightly through the fabric of his pants.

To Curtis’ credit—focused as he was—he didn’t jump so much as tense protectively, body ready to block Cullen from view. He was a true switch, and it filled Bull’s chest with pride to see the physical evidence of just how far he’d come into it.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Curtis said, purposefully dismissive, his aloofness feigned for Cullen’s benefit. Nothing broke subspace quite as thoroughly as the reality of time. Better he believe the minutes had stretched to hours and the hours to days.

“Too long,” Cullen choked.

Curtis’ hand moved quickly, his slap more like a kitten’s bat, but the effect was instant, a harsh cry gasping from Cullen’s chest. He must have been so sensitive. “I decide what’s too long,” Curtis said, not scolding, but unyielding. Bull approved of his phrasing—showing Cullen that it was not his speech, but his criticism that was at fault.

This wasn’t punishment, this was affirmation.

It took Cullen several breaths to collect himself, deep and steady. Curtis’ hand lay flat against Cullen’s belly, measuring the weight of those breaths, watching for signs of anxiety, of hyperventilation. He was likely listening for Cullen’s heartbeat, too, Bull thought approvingly.

“Good boy,” said Iron Bull warmly. He meant Curtis, initially, but let Cullen share his affectionate praise.

The effect was visceral, Cullen’s tension bleeding out. He was still desperately hard, but the need was lessened.

Curtis hummed quietly in assent. “You _have_ been very good, Cullen.”

Cullen knew better than to hope, and Bull could see it in his face. There was no expectation that Curtis’ verbalized praise would bring him his orgasm, and no disappointment when it didn’t come. He only achieved this level of peaceful acquiescence when he’d been thoroughly brought under.

“You’ve done well,” Bull said, again meaning Curtis, but he wouldn’t deny Cullen the pride of claiming his words for himself.

Curtis looked up at him, a satisfied smile on his face that betrayed how perceptive he was of Bull’s motives. “Would you like a turn?”

Cullen’s dick twitched, but it was hard to tell if it was Curtis’ invitation or the movement of his head that caused such a reaction.

Bull waved softly. “I’m good just watching.” He smiled gently. “But thank you, Kadan.”

Curtis nuzzled Cullen’s belly, hiding his face from Bull’s endearment. His fingers trailed back down the curls of Cullen’s pubic hair, petting the sensitive skin at the base of his cock, barely flirting with the outline of the ribbon. Curtis hummed, pleased, as Cullen twitched against his bonds. “Do you _really_ want to come?” he asked.

Cullen made a wordless sound, and Curtis’ fingers stopped.

“Cullen? Sweetheart, can you tell me your safeword?” The sultry tease of his voice was gone, now, replaced by clear tones—to get through to Cullen through the fog of his subspace.

Cullen shook his head, and Bull could see Curtis, eyes wide and worried, beginning to retreat. “Don’t wanna stop,” Cullen slurred. “Green.”

“I’m not going to stop, sweetie, I’m just checking in.”

It took a moment to filter through, but Cullen heard him. “Oh, ‘kay.”

“Remind me, then, okay? What’s your safeword?”

“Red,” Cullen whispered, as though if he said it softly, Curtis wouldn’t take it as him safewording out. Bull’s heart twisted.

“Thank you,” Curtis said, kissing Cullen’s chest. Bull could sense his nervous relief, seeing it for what it was—that moment of fear that he’d done something wrong, something unforgivable.

Bull would talk to him later, he thought. Remind him that it’s not about him, about what he does or doesn’t do, but about Cullen. That an out is always an out and sometimes it’s nobody’s fault. He was still learning, after all.

And Cullen—his tone hushed and desperate, an unspoken _please don’t stop_. He could use the reminder that no matter how quietly he uttered it, no matter how unsure, they would honor his safeword.

“Do you want to come?” Curtis repeated.

Cullen managed a soft, warm sound, uniquely content.

_He may not always be able to answer you_ , Bull had warned Curtis, back when they’d just started out. Cullen had proven him wrong many times, and this was no different.

“Good like this,” Cullen managed.

Curtis squirmed, and Bull suspected the skin-tight jeans were part of an ulterior motive. He knew it turned Curtis on to see Cullen like this, just as much as it did him. Curtis swore softly into the soft skin of Cullen’s stomach. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You are.” His fingernails, bitten and sharp, raked gently down the slope of hair that drew from Cullen’s navel to that blue ribbon.

Cullen’s breath hitched.

Curtis couldn’t keep him there much longer. Subspace had a limit, Bull knew, and he would never assume anyone’s limitations, but Cullen had to be reaching his. His dick bobbed gently with his heartbeat, quick and steady.

Curtis had two options, as the Bull saw it. He could keep going, continue teasing Cullen until he was wrung out like a wet cloth, or he could break the game, bring him out of it hard and fast. Either one had its risks, and even Bull would be hard-pressed to seek out the right course of action for Cullen.

“You’re gonna watch Bull fuck me,” Curtis said.

Bull’s dick took attention. Once again, proven wrong, he thought with a grin. He took a step toward Curtis, already reaching for his own belt.

“And then I’m going to ask you again.” Curtis lifted himself up, pulling away from Cullen’s body. He paused for a moment, watching the bound man. Though he wasn’t particularly happy about it, Cullen wasn’t distressed by the loss of contact.

“And _if_ I’m feeling generous,” Curtis continued, pulling the awful polo over his head, “I’ll see to you before he can get it up to fuck me again.”

Bull reached for Curtis’ binder. “At this rate, you might not have long to wait.”

Curtis shivered.

It was never a smooth process, pulling his binder off, but between his eagerness and Bull’s strong grip, he was shortly bared to the room, his nipples rapidly tightening to points. There were red lines on his skin where the fabric had pressed him flat. Bull ran his fingers up the creases that covered Curtis’ ribs, too firm to tickle, until his fingers skimmed the curve of the underside of Curtis’ chest.

“You good?” he asked.

In lieu of answering verbally, Curtis took Bull’s wrists and pulled his large hands to cover the soft swell of his chest. Callouses scraped his nipples, and Curtis pressed back into him. Every curve of his body read of desperation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bull said.

“Touch me, Bull, please, please, just touch me.”

“Can do.”

His hand skimmed down Curtis’ body, spanning the short distance in no time at all. His hand barely fit under the waistband of the slim jeans, his fingers barely a tease at Curtis’ curls—no room for underwear under those pants.

Cullen watched, his mouth slightly agape, head curled against the stretch of his shoulder. His cock drooled against the flat of his hips, his fingers twitching at the knotted scarves with envy.

“Look at our boy,” Bull murmured into Curtis’ neck. The soft moan he got in response was answer enough. “He’s almost as wet as you.”

He reached down with his free hand and unfastened the fly of his pants. It didn’t give him a lot of room, but it was enough to press his fingers along Curtis’ dripping cunt. Curtis responded instantly, pressing back against him. Barely a touch and he was humping Bull’s hand.

“Get these off,” he growled to Curtis, tugging on the waistband.

Curtis bent at the waist, peeling the fabric over the swell of his hips—and his knees buckled, with a gasp revealing the dark end of a plug buried in his ass.

“ _Fuck_ , Kadan,” Bull hissed. “No wonder you’re so desperate.”

He wondered if he’d made Cullen watch as he’d prepared himself, if he’d ordered him to help, the baker’s fingers sinking deep to stretch Curtis open. The roll of his hips had been a reminder, constant pressure filling him up as he teased Cullen.

“Is that where you want me?” Bull asked.

Curtis shook his head. “I’m wet as fuck,” he said frankly. “Why waste it?”

Bull laughed, loud and startling. “All right, Kadan. Knees on the bed.”

Curtis planted himself, kneeling, between Cullen’s spread legs. Bull gently pushed his back forward until he folded, his ass in the air, hands on either side of Cullen’s hips. Curtis’ forehead pressed against Cullen’s thigh, inches from the neglected swell of his cock.

Cullen made a choked noise. Curtis’ head popped up.

“What’s your color?”

“Green,” Cullen answered after a breath. “Want you to touch me,” he elaborated. “Fuck, do I,” he added, breathless, “but—green.”

“Good,” Curtis said, and that was important, somehow, but Bull was missing the context. Curtis ran his fingers through the light hairs on Cullen’s thigh. “You’re _supposed_ to want me to touch you.”

Bull slid a large hand up the curve of Curtis’ spine until his fingers wound into the curls outgrowing his undercut. The pressure was enough to press Curtis’ face into Cullen’s skin, not rough, but firm. His belt clinked, dangling loose from his open fly, as he teased his cock at Curtis’ opening, the head glancing in a slick, audible kiss.

“God,” Curtis growled, groaning thickly.

He knew the deep rumble of his chuckle went straight to both his lovers’ groins. “Having some trouble taking what you’ve been dishing out?”

“There’s something else I could be taking.”

Without a word, Bull entered him in one long thrust, gentle, but unwavering, until he met resistance, as deep into Curtis’ body as he could go. The pressure of the plug made him even tighter than usual, squirming on Bull’s cock. Curtis bit down on the meaty muscle of Cullen’s thigh, leaving a red mark that would bruise later.

“You’ve got a smart mouth today, Curtis,” Bull remarked. “I imagine Cullen could make good use of it.”

Curtis gasped as Bull began thrusting—slow, shallow movements. “No,” he said. “That wasn’t—”

“Please,” Cullen gasped.

Curtis hit his dick, just like before. He was deliberate about it, giving Cullen no time to anticipate it. A splash of precome spurted from the tip of his cock, leaving a spray of drops glistening on his stomach.

Curtis didn’t think, just acted, pulling away from Iron Bull’s grasp and licking up the liquid from Cullen’s soft belly. He hummed happily, like it was one of Cullen’s carefully crafted desserts. “You taste good,” Curtis said, head tilted to look Cullen in the eye. “But you know that wasn’t what we agreed to.”

Bull pulled Curtis up by his hair, upright against him, the angle shifting him deeper. Curtis cried out, his hips moving without thought against Bull, the angle leaving him breathless. Bull’s pubic bone hit the base of the plug with every thrust, sending Curtis reeling from both sides.

“That’s it,” Bull encouraged, “just let it happen.”

Curtis sent one seeking hand over his shoulder, holding onto the back of Bull’s head, pulling him tight into the crook of his neck where he pressed tiny love bites, a handful of which might bruise, a bouquet of his claim. With his other hand, Curtis could just barely hold on, nails digging into Bull’s hip, dragging lines across his skin.

Curtis had been close to start with, and the friction, the angle—Bull knew just how to bring Curtis off, knew his body and his triggers, and a hand in his hair and another covering his chest, fingers pinching at sensitive nipples while he pounded into him? Curtis didn’t stand a chance.

He seized back into Bull’s body as though his thick arms were the only things keeping Curtis from flying apart.

It wasn’t enough for Bull to come, but that didn’t matter. He held his shivering lover until he could hold himself up again, and pulled out, Curtis’ cunt still twitching around Bull’s erection. The plug twitched rhythmically with the clenching of his body, and Curtis made a bereft noise, rocking back to chase the familiar fullness.

“That’s not where your attention needs to be right now,” Bull reminded him. As though he could forget the desperate man soaking the sheets with sweat beneath him. “I’m fine. You take care of our boy,” he said, wrapping his own hand around his cock, just to feel it while he watched.

“How’re you doing?” Curtis asked Cullen, a gentle hand on his thigh. He crawled up his body, careful not to touch Cullen’s aching erection between them.

Cullen made a soft, wordless sound, his muscles tense.

“What color, sweetie?” he asked, nuzzling into his chest.

“Green,” Cullen said, his voice soft, but present. He was starting to come up out of it. “Curtis, please,” he begged.

“I know,” Curtis soothed. “Do you want to come?”

A soft, choked whine trailed from Cullen’s throat, but Curtis gave him time enough to collect himself. It was asking a lot, Bull thought, to ask Cullen to make a decision, just coming out of subspace, but he expected Cullen to impress him at this point.

“Yes,” Cullen whispered, finally. “I want to.”

Bull forced back a groan. Cullen’s admission was the target of it all, he realized, and his quiet confession as good as any orgasm.

“Don’t hold back,” Curtis purred, moving down Cullen’s body.

Bull had seen him give head countless times, had been under his tongue, tortured and teased. It was never like this. Now, with Cullen, Curtis was a force of nature, slick sounds and strained gasps as Curtis took him too far too fast. He kissed the head, sloppy and wet, precome dripping down his chin alongside his own spit. It was fast and hard, and Curtis gave no quarter, provided no luxury. It was torture with Cullen’s orgasm as the light at the end of this very long tunnel.

Cullen jerked under his mouth, straining against his bonds until the silk creaked. He’d be looking at bruises on his wrists after this, Bull thought. The image made him _hungry_ for it.

“Ah—y-yes, Cur— _ah_!”

Cullen came with a wordless cry that sounded more like sobbing than relief, and Curtis kept swallowing. Tears slipped from his eyes, oversensitive and out of his head.

Bull reached forward and pulled Curtis’ head off him. “Kadan,” he said softly, nodding to Cullen’s trembling limbs. He breathed unevenly, whipping his face to the side.

Curtis’ eyes widened, and he cupped Cullen’s face, wiping at his tears. “You okay?” Curtis asked, his voice high and breathy. He cursed softly, “Nod if you’re okay.”

It was slow, but Cullen managed it. It did a number on him, bringing him down that far. Cullen’s ability to speak, to voice his thoughts, was often lost on his way back, something that would catch up with him after a while. It had been a worrying discovery the first time, but Bull and Curtis never let Cullen believe there was anything wrong with him, or that it was his fault.

“Let me untie you.”

Cullen murmured his assent, sniffling, tugging at his bonds, already shaking from the drop.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Curtis soothed, petting Cullen’s damp hair. “You did really well.”

Bull thought about helping, tugging at the knots at Cullen’s feet, but that wasn’t his job today. He was there as a spectator only.

_Come home, I have a surprise_ , Curtis’ text had read. _No touching._

The scarves were left on the bedposts, and Curtis rubbed the tingles from Cullen’s limbs. He’d be stiff and sore from tugging for a couple hours, but it would fade. A massage wouldn’t be undue, Bull thought, once Cullen settled back into his own skin. He made a mental note to take out the oils for later.

“I’ll be right back,” Curtis said. “I’m just gonna clean us up.” He tried to pull away, but Cullen had him in a death grip, fingers clinging to Curtis’ wrists.

“You stay there, Kadan,” Bull said, smiling gently, afraid to shatter the ease of the moment. He came back with a warm, wet cloth. He handed the cloth to Curtis, letting him take care of Cullen.

“Come on, under the blanket, Cullen. You did really well,” Curtis repeated.

Cullen buried his face in the tiny space between Curtis’ shoulder and the pillow of his chest.

“Can you speak yet?”

Cullen murmured a single tone and shook his head, a flush coming to his face. Curtis noticed his sudden bashfulness.

“Hey, no, it’s fine, you’re fine. Take your time, sweetheart.”

Bull shifted on his feet. “I’ll just take care of this,” he said, palming his still-hard cock. His words were without judgment, no motive behind them, just firm assurance. He leaned down and Curtis met him as far as he could in a soft, chaste kiss. “You two take your time, I’ll get something on the stove.”

“Best,” Curtis said warmly. He rolled back, curling into the curve of Cullen’s body. Bull’s heart swelled with pride—his Kadan and their boy.

 


End file.
